Why 'Yellowstone' The TV Show Ain't The Real Montana (Or Wyoming, Or The West)
Montana author Russell Rowland talks about divides shaking the West to its core. They go beyond rural-urban, newcomer-old timer, mountain-prairie and prosperity vs. despair
It's not the Dutton Yellowstone Ranch, or the Ponderosa. The Arbuckle Ranch, owned by Russell Rowland's grandparents, is something far better—it's real. Located near Ekalaka in Carter County, in the far southeastern corner of Montana, it was an operation where every economic contribution mattered, making the difference between viability and bankruptcy. It's one of the huge childhood influences that shaped Rowland's identity and perspective as a Westerner. Photo courtesy Russell Rowland
by Todd Wilkinson
Billings as a city sits along the Yellowstone River in a zone of transition, connecting two very different Montanas—the one in the boom-boom western part of the state where forest-coated mountains and breathtaking river valleys are coping with growing pains, and the rolling, largely treeless expanse of the state holding long vistas that stretch for hundreds of miles toward the rising sun.
The latter possesses its own lonely majesty. Cattle and deer outnumber people and though slower to see cultural change, it is much like the realm of many prairie states with isolated ranch and farm towns that are either losing people and/or being emptied. For those traveling by car to Montana from the east, Billings, an old railroad town and hub for agriculture, is a gateway to the mountains and Montana’s contribution to the lands of Greater Yellowstone. From there you catch your first glimpse of the Absaroka-Beartooths and Crazy mountains.
The West is a place where you learn in very visceral ways what it means to be powerless in this world." — Russell Rowland
For those headed east from Bozeman on I-90, Billings gives way to a topography of large cattle operations, croplands flanking the Yellowstone River, communities that indigenous denizens themselves refer to as Indian Country, and political attitudes held together and shaped by endless exposure to a constantly-reinforcing feedback loop on AM talk radio. On those airwaves, the word “Liberal” is the worst kind of aspersion cast on another individual.
Beyond the rimrocks of Billings, and extending toward Montana’s borders with the Dakotas and eastern Wyoming, in the heart of what used to be buffalo country, there’s a drain of people and in this direction a flood of newcomers that established new high-water marks of development in the Covid years. Few commentators there are trying to make sense of where we are and what the future holds, particularly in remote outposts where the sentiment is people simply want to be left alone.
Russell Rowland is a novelist based in Billings, writer of essays, writing instructor, host with Aaron Parrett of the monthly podcast Breakfast in Montana featuring Montana writers and radio show Fifty-Six Countiesthat explores the state—plus he's a social critic, mirthful king of quirk and road tripper endlessly fascinated by the forces shaping Montana in the 21st century. His are views that transcend state lines. Author of six critically acclaimed books, some that have been well reviewed in The New York Times and netted High Plains Book awards.
With several new writing projects coming down the pike, we wanted to catch up with this resident of Billings, the largest city in Montana situated just off the northeastern flank of Greater Yellowstone and a burg where residents have a strong affinity for the topics Mountain Journal covers.
We know you will find it provocative and we know you’ll have comments. Sit back, enjoy, and if you have questions you’d like us to forward to Russell send them to us by clicking here. We’ll put them up at the end of this interview.
Russell Rowland stands on the famous rimrock geological formations above Billings, Montana. Behind him in the distance are the snow-capped Absaroka-Beartooth mountains and the wild Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem. Rowland and other Billings residents feel a strong connection not only toward the Yellowstone region, but the state's prairies of true big skies, broken eroded landforms and hardscrabble people who need to be tough to persevere. They're a different breed from the funhog culture found in Bozeman and Big Sky.
TODD WILKINSON: Let me begin by saying you are a great writer, but more than that, you're an astute observer. On that front, what was it like to grow up in Montana, with Bozeman connections, then leave the state and come home again? What changed and did anything stay the same?
RUSSEL ROWLAND: First of all, thanks so much for the kind words about my writing, which means a great deal coming from you. So just a slight correction on my history. I was born in Bozeman, but we left there when my dad completed his teaching degree when I was 2. He taught in Roberts, Thermopolis, and Sheridan, Wyoming, before we moved to Billings when I was 12.
So, I consider Billings my home town. But I left Montana for 25 years after college, and when I moved back in 2007, the main difference I noticed was that the feeling that we’re all in this together wasn’t as evident. My mom grew up on a ranch in Carter County, one of the most conservative counties in the state. My staunchly Democratic grandparents and their neighbors got along just fine because this was the time before people took telephones and television and transportation for granted. They relied on each other for shared work and social activities.
TW: Does that mean when you were growing up no one checked for an ideological ID card when getting a table down at the local café, climbing into the deer stand, or buying a beer at the saloon? I’ll bet young people today can’t fathom a time when there wasn’t intense political tribalism that infects almost everything these days.
ROWLAND: Political differences didn’t matter as much then, and people gathered more. I remember the country dances and card parties when I was a kid, and you just don’t see that in the rural communities anymore.
Experiences he's had lend power to Rowland's writing which has earned acclaim and national attention. He's not interested in feeding false narratives that only reinforce romantic or violent mythology; there's enough heartbreaking and heroic humanity found in the lives of real people to make the West far more interesting, Rowland says, than any fictional scripts coming out of city slicker screenwriters living in LA.
TW: What has persisted?
ROWLAND: The thing that hasn’t changed, and this was particularly shocking to me coming directly from San Francisco where I lived for 12 years, was the attitude toward Natives. I couldn’t believe the shit that came out of peoples’ mouths, often delivered with the kind of smirk and nod that indicates a strong assumption that I’m going to agree with their attitude. That it’s common knowledge. A friend of mine and I were just talking about this the other day, that you would never hear most people in Montana talk about African Americans the way they do Natives, because there’s such a deep-seated legacy there, a belief that they are somehow inherently, as the Declaration of Independence labels them, “savages.”
TW: Racism is undeniable, deeply engrained in human nature because we love to demonize the "other,” but will it ever go away? Sometimes it’s arguable where the direction we’re headed is forward or backward. What's your take on the yearning—the lament—that people have in the rural West of wanting to stay, but needing to leave, and then sometimes being prevented from returning to their beloved communities of origin because of a number of obstacles? One among them is outsiders with more money discovering the place, driving up real estate, making it more difficult to own a home or rent and they're transforming the culture?
ROWLAND: Oh man, that’s a tough one! But it makes me think of all the people I’ve talked to in Montana who went through a period where they couldn’t wait to get the hell out of their hometown, and then ended up coming back. This place takes such a hold on you, and I think trying to describe how that happens is very difficult. But there was something in me that always knew I would come back here. Montana sinks into your blood that way.
TW: Indeed, it isn’t particular to Montana—identity, loyalty to place, to the people who bring us along and who endure change together; it is found everywhere. I knew it in the small Minnesota town where I was raised and my parents ran a restaurant. You have a good ear for hearing the conversations and turning them into dialogue.
ROWLAND: This reminds me of a story I heard recently about a woman who owns a small farm just outside Billings, and when some new neighbors moved into the place next to hers, she did the usual Montana thing and took a plate of homemade cookies over and introduced herself. And after what seemed to be a pretty cordial conversation, as she was leaving they said, “Just so you know, we didn’t move here to make friends.” And this friend and I laughed about how they might change their tune after the first time they can’t get out of their driveway after the first snowstorm.
"I have definitely changed my mind about whether the influx of outsiders has a negative impact on our state. I used to consider people who complained about that to be kind of selfish and closed-minded. But now that the problem has filtered into our politics, I find it a lot more troubling because we have such a long history of people who see Montana as an easy target for opportunities to make big money."
TW: I can say that from these last five and a half years getting Mountain Journal off the ground and paying attention to how people talk about issues, there is a deep lack of ecological literacy especially among newcomers who don’t understand or appreciate the responsibility that comes with living close to wild Nature or working ag lands. And, as a result of that, they unknowingly do things that contribute to its erosion.
ROWLAND: I see that, too.
TW: But there’s something else. Thinking about your friend who carried out the traditional gesture of the neighborhood "welcome wagon,” I’m not sure folks relocating here from cities understand the pastime in rural areas of waving at the people approaching in vehicles from the other direction. It’s not just some folksy expression of howdy but affirmation and acknowledgment of being seen. It’s an important thread of community in vast rural spaces that can swallow people up. It’s beyond the ability of urbanites to grasp. They think all rural people are bumpkins and it’s a profound irony.
ROWLAND: I have definitely changed my mind about whether the influx of outsiders has a negative impact on our state. I used to consider people who complained about that to be kind of selfish and closed-minded, but now that the problem has filtered into our politics, I find it a lot more troubling because we have such a long history of people who see Montana as an easy target for opportunities to make big money. There’s nothing wrong with that if these people also share a desire to treat Montana with the respect it deserves, and if they do the right thing in terms of giving back. But that’s another part of our history—a lot of these people don’t. And I find the influx of that particular brand of new residents very troubling.
Rowland's father, right, was a school teacher but he knew his way around a horse and helped out rancher friends and neighbors whenever they needed it. Here, he puts his toddler son, Rowland, in the saddle. Photo courtesy Russell Rowland
TW: Relocating to Montana and then sequestering oneself behind the walls of a high-end subdivision where one doesn’t have to deal with the problems of common folk in the province has catalyzed a backlash. But in addition to anger, I sense a bit of pity and sorrow. Locals realize that the people of means, power and influence coming from elsewhere think they’re experiencing the real Montana and they’re not. We’ve discussed this before: wealth doesn’t buy entrance to real community or authentic experiences; actions, humility and caring do.
ROWLAND: The ones who bother me the most come here and see it as their own private playground but they don't give back. Many of the current leaders in our political arena, and some of them are deep-pocketed, part-time residents throwing their money around, are doing all they can to impose their own beliefs onto our state. They’re here to exploit. They see us as naïve and easily manipulated, and we’ve proven these people right way too often, starting with the Copper Kings and their abuse of people and the environment.
"Many of the current leaders in our political arena, and some of them are deep-pocketed part-time residents throwing their money around, are doing all they can to impose their own beliefs onto our state. They’re here to exploit. They see us as naïve and easily manipulated, and we’ve proven these people right way too often, starting with the Copper Kings and their abuse of people and the environment."
TW: For readers who haven't yet cracked open your mystery novel Cold Country—and should because it's a fine bound down the rabbit hole in an almost McGuanean way—how does your fictional Paradise Valley match up against the fictional presentation of the TV melodrama Yellowstone?
ROWLAND: I’m so glad you asked this particular question about Cold Country, because the funny thing about it being set in Paradise Valley is that it wasn’t set in Paradise Valley until the very last draft. That novel is based on a two-year period when my father took a job managing a ranch in Bighorn Valley in Wyoming, just 20 miles north of Sheridan.
Many of the details in the novel are lifted from our experience on that ranch, including the fact that my father took the job without telling my mother because he knew she’d be furious. It was a real strain on their marriage. So the reason I moved the setting was because a lot of the characters are based on real people and I didn’t want to offend anyone.
TW: I think readers will conclude that the characters flowing through the pages are similar to people in their own communities.
ROWLAND: The character of Peter Kenwood is based on Peter Kiewit, the construction magnate whose company still has a big influence in that part of Wyoming/Montana. The original Peter Kiewit hired my dad, but he lived in Omaha, so part of what I was trying to capture in that book was how differently people see their relationship with the land if they don’t actually live and work here. This is just one of many things Yellowstone gets wrong, the fact that they don’t explore the absolute devotion that people who live here have to the land and to their livestock.
TW: Elaborate on that, please.
ROWLAND: In Cold Country, the rivalry that develops between two of the richest men in the region is complicated by the fact that one of them (Kenwood) is only interested in money, and the other, Tom Butcher, has a love/hate relationship with the land that he inherited. He’s stuck here, and Kenwood just sees the ranch as a hobby, which was true of Kiewit as well. When you pour your heart and soul into a place, your devotion to it has a completely different depth than if you only see it as a piece of property. So I was really dismayed when Yellowstone ended up being set in Paradise Valley, partly because they’ve completely misrepresented that aspect of the dynamics in a rural community, but also because a team that included an Oscar-nominated director optioned Cold Country, and the project never got any momentum, partly because of Covid, but also because Yellowstone came out just after that.
TW: A wicked blend of circumstances beyond your control.
ROWLAND: I fully admit that envy played a part. But it made it a particularly bitter pill to swallow when they ended up completely missing the point. And since we’re on the topic of Yellowstone, another thing that galls me about that show is that is resurrects the same old stereotype that the way men deal with conflict in this region is through posturing and/or violence. It’s an old trope that writers from the West have been trying to overcome for decades, so every time another show or film comes along and trots out these old clichés, it really makes me angry because I think a lot of our mental health issues have been perpetuated by these clichés. I actually just did a whole episode about this on my radio show.
"Since we’re on the topic of Yellowstone, another thing that galls me about that show is that is resurrects the same old stereotype that the way men deal with conflict in this region is through posturing and/or violence. It’s an old trope that writers from the West have been trying to overcome for decades, so every time another show or film comes along and trots out these old cliches, it really makes me angry because I think a lot of our mental health issues have been perpetuated by these cliches.
TW: One of the many aspects of Cold Country is the realization that in small towns you grow up believing you really know people but that isn't always the case. A reviewer of the book in The Wall Street Journal observed, “Spare the Montana writer Russell Rowland any of your guff about the romance of the West. 'It was a hard, isolated, brutal life with little time for anything but work,’ he declares in his latest novel, Cold Country … and only the most stubborn persist in living there—'the ones who are too mean to die and too determined to prove everybody wrong to leave.'” Is that something that you too have experienced in a deep way?
ROWLAND: Yes, I saw this in real time when I worked on my grandparents’ ranch for a summer in high school. The best part of that experience, which was my first job, was being exposed to a world where going to work is not optional. I always love to tell the story of how that summer started, because in those days you could still catch a ride on a mail truck, so my dad took me down to the main post office in Billings at midnight and I rode the mail truck all night to get to the ranch. And I was convinced they would know that I just needed a nap once I got there, but instead my uncle came racing out of the house and told me to take my bag inside because we needed to go fight a fire on one of the neighboring ranches.
TW: You were literally cast into the flames. And it taught you what?
Rowland and his granddad. Grainy photographs can provide tactile grist for fine writing and stories of true grit.
ROWLAND: I learned from day one that the world around you dictates your schedule when you live on a ranch. I ended up using that for the opening scene in my first novel, In Open Spaces. Another piece of family history that I used in that first novel was how dangerous life is on a ranch, because my grandfather’s oldest brother drowned in the Little Missouri River loading grain in 1908, and my grandfather had to leave school at the age of 14 to work on the ranch. Oddly enough, another member of that family, also named George, also drowned a couple of decades later, swimming in a reservoir on the ranch. So, I ended up using that incident in the novel too.
TW: Fifty-Six Counties: it’s the number of counties in Montana, the title of one of your books and the name of your radio show broadcast on Yellowstone Public Radio. The east-west, prairie-mountains, urban-rural divide motifs are often mentioned as a contrast between two different Montanas: landscape and demography. What do you say about each of those and why do they matter?
ROWLAND: I always think of Eastern Montana as the sibling that has to work a little harder to get their parents’ approval. Western Montana got all the looks, the more dramatic personality and, with the exception of an occasional oil boom, most of the natural resources. Western Montana is what people think of when they think of Montana. I think Eastern Montana has always been populated with people who have had to work harder. But I think what’s even more striking is the contrast between small town and urban Montana. I lived in a small town long enough to know that if you’re a little bit different in small town Montana, there’s a good chance you’ll be excluded, if not bullied.
"I always think of Eastern Montana as the sibling that has to work a little harder to get their parents’ approval. Western Montana got all the looks, the more dramatic personality and, with the exception of an occasional oil boom, most of the natural resources. Western Montana is what people think of when they think of Montana."
TW: Readers here who grew up in a small town can probably relate. Along with this, young people go off to college or find work in a larger town or city and don’t come home. It’s the people who stay who hold those communities together, even as they slip through their hands.
ROWLAND: There’s a lot of pressure to be part of the herd in smaller towns, so I’ve always been grateful that by the time I was in high school, we moved to Billings, where I had a chance to hang out with kids like me, who were interested in music and drama. The high schools in Billings were big enough to have room for many different groups, depending on your interests. There’s a certain advantage to that in terms of feeling accepted. I think the way this plays out as Montana relies more and more on tourism is going to be even more difficult for the smaller towns in Eastern Montana. They’re already struggling to find their footing. A lot of younger people are leaving as it becomes harder to make a living in agriculture, and although there are some communities, like Winnett, that are doing some really amazing work to organize and create incentives for people to stay, a lot of those towns have very little to offer their young people as a reason to stick around.
TW: Land is legacy, how we treat it, and the bonds we forge. How does this play into identity?
ROWLAND: In the end, I think the biggest contrast we’re facing at the moment is the two different ways people in Montana view the land itself. With so many people moving here because they’ve been seduced by all the hype, we have a real stark contrast between people who love this place in theory and people who love it because it is part of who they are.
I think I summed up my attitude about that as well as I probably can in Fifty-Six Counties with this passage about people who grew up here and are completely devoted to the land itself:
“They love until it makes them blind, until they feel the need to barricade themselves against anything that threatens that love. So we drink. We kill ourselves. We throw our sinking self-image out onto those around us, sometimes in violent, ugly ways, and we decide that our problems are everyone else’s fault, and that if they would go away, or act more like we do, or learn to think more like we think, then we would feel better.”
A lot of that anger in rural Montana gets directed toward the government, and there’s a certain irony there because most rural communities rely heavily on the government to stay viable.
"In the end, I think the biggest contrast we’re facing at the moment is the two different ways people in Montana view the land itself. With so many people moving here because they’ve been seduced by all the hype, we have a real stark contrast between people who love this place in theory and people who love it because it is part of who they are."
TW: Considering all of that, is there a common identity in the state, and can the differences be bridged? Equally as important, do they need to be?
ROWLAND: I think the only common identity in the western half of the state is a manufactured one, of the outdoorsy hunting-fishing-hiking-health nut. And for the eastern half, people will always think of the rugged individualist, the stoic, self-sufficient farmer/rancher, also mostly a myth.
There’s just enough truth in both of these to support the stereotypes, but Montanans have always been much more complicated than people give us credit for. And, of course, that western Montana image definitely draws a lot of people here, but I’ve lived in12 different states since I graduated from high school, and the one thing that became very clear to me was that Montana is a lot like everyplace else in terms of people who are interested in those particular activities. There are plenty of other folks who live here because they love the spirit of Montana but whose real interest lies in some form of culture.
TW: What do you appreciate more now today than you did before?
ROWLAND: One of my favorite discoveries when I did research for Fifty-Six Counties was learning how many small farming and ranching communities had theater companies, or community centers that offered every kind of cultural activity you can imagine. It wasn’t all rodeos and hunting and fishing. The one thing that I do think we are known for, though, and for very good reason, is that we are a very friendly group as a whole. There’s a certain vibe, and a lot of people have remarked about this too, that they have experienced the phenomenon of being a long ways from Montana and seeing someone across the room, and somehow just knowing they’re from Montana.
I think the most important difference that needs to be bridged, though, is the one I mentioned above, between those who feel Montana in their bones and those who think we’re just here for their pleasure, or their benefit.
"One of the reasons I loved your Mountain Journal story about Staffanson is because he’s such a terrific example of how much more complex people in Montana are than most outsiders would believe. There is a long tradition in Montana of accepting people just the way they are, as in ‘Oh, he’s a strange guy, but he’s our strange guy,’ and I’ve seen a real danger in that kind of attitude being drowned out by louder voices that want to depict everyone from Montana in a certain light."
TW: What we'll be talking about now is a heavy topic, and you alluded to it before, but it’s important and never appears in glossy tourism brochures: Montana has one of the highest suicide rates in the country and it’s a serious public health issue. Older men are taking their lives, so are indigenous Montanans and so, too, are young people. It’s there on the plains, the open prairie and in the mountains. What’s behind the despair?
ROWLAND: This is obviously a huge issue, and the legislature has been especially deaf and blind to this issue by shooting down bills that would be helpful in addressing the problem, including one that would have provided mental health screenings for rural high school students. When I was doing research for Fifty-Six Counties, this was one of the most upsetting findings, how prevalent this problem has been for decades and how the efforts to address it have always fallen woefully short.
I have a good friend, Alan Weltzien, who was a literature professor in Dillon for a very long time, and his wife Lynn was the Director of the Campus Counseling Program at University of Montana Western for years. She did an extensive study of the cause of suicides in Montana and came to the conclusion that the most important factors were the lack of availability of mental health services, the abundance of guns (homes with guns are 20 times higher at risk for a suicide), the high rate of alcohol abuse—Montana is near the top
in the nation in alcohol-related deaths, underage drinking, binge drinking, and consumption per capita—and finally, the legacy of suicide.
TW: A “legacy of suicide?”
ROWLAND: This was a new one to me, but apparently studies have shown that if suicide becomes normalized in a social structure, people tend to consider it much more readily as an option. And I would add to that the relentless messaging that has occurred in our region since the beginning that we need to handle our problems ourselves, and that talking about fear or pain or depression is a sign of weakness. This is one of the main reasons I despise shows like Yellowstone that continue to support this image of the Western personality, particularly in men.
TW: You’ve said in the past that it perpetuates a stereotype about Indigenous people. I know we both, by contrast, share praise for the TV show Reservation Dogs created by Sterlin Harjo and Taika Waititi.
ROWLAND: I think there has to be a concerted effort to address the ongoing problems on the reservations, starting with real conversations about how to heal the emotional trauma that has been afflicted. I organized a symposium several years ago at the Billings Public Library with a Native friend of mine, fellow writer Adrian Jawort, where we initiated a discussion about the history between Natives and non-Natives, and that symposium drew over a hundred people for a day-long series of panels. And most of the crowd stayed for the entire day.
TW: And?
ROWLAND: Ever since then, I’ve been advocating for a Truth and Reconciliation Commission, like the one held in South Africa after the end of official Apartheid to address the issue of healing. I even talked to a woman who was part of the commission they held in Maine several years ago, and she advised me against going into the legal issues because they ended up going down that rabbit hole to the benefit of no one. But I believe that the emotional scars of what happened to Native people as well as the people who were victims of the Native backlash needs to be discussed in an open forum or the ongoing trauma that is a very real part of our Native community will always be a blight on our state, and its reputation as an allegedly progressive and open minded place, not to mention a heavy financial burden.
TW: You have a radio show and podcast, write essays and novels. You are a blunt social observer. What message would you have for those living in Bozeman and newcomers arriving in record numbers seeking hip, self-absorbed, groovy lives of leisure where struggle is often not visible?
ROWLAND: My main message would be to stop perpetuating this idea that we shouldn’t welcome outsiders here, but work harder to educate people moving here about what this place is really like. Native people were the first to deal with this phenomenon. Our best chance of thriving as a state is to embrace the influx of tourists and people who want to live here, but if we continue to allow our image of ourselves to be shaped and molded by people who don’t understand the basic Montana personality and ethos, whether it’s in politics or in the arts, we are in grave danger of losing our tenuous hold on the kind of dedication to the people here that was such a big part of what once gave us a reputation as “the last best place.”
TW: What grade would you give us as we navigate the changes and try to have constructive dialogs, all things considered?
ROWLAND: I don’t think we’re living up to that image these days. When we elect a man who body-slammed a reporter to be our governor, and then elect a realtor to Congress who votes against every bill that helps people in rural Montana, as well as veterans, we’re turning our backs on the basic spirit of “we’re all in this together” that was vital to our early survival.
"When we elect a man who body slammed a reporter to be our governor, and then elect a realtor to Congress who votes against every bill that helps people in rural Montana, as well as veterans, we’re turning our backs on the basic spirit of 'we’re all in this together' that was vital to our early survival."
TW: What is Russell Rowland working on now and how does it fit in with your efforts to depict some of the real issues facing Montana?
ROWLAND: I have just finished a new novel called Farm to Table that is set in the oil fields in northeastern Montana. The two main characters are Sue Raney, a middle-aged woman who lives on the farm where she grew up, and Colt Little Wolf, a young Native kid she hires to work for her. After struggling to make a living her whole life, she suddenly finds herself wealthy when they build an oil rig on her property. When there’s a spill on that rig, Sue starts acting strange and she eventually wakes Colt up in the middle of the night to help her move a body that’s buried under the spill. Turns out she shot a guy that wooed her then tried to extort a bunch of money from her.
TW: I know that these Covid years have given you downtime time to focus on things that have been percolating. And, fortunately for us, it means more things flowing out of your typewriter, er, desktop. You’ve always been honest about how your own lived experience brings authenticity to your characters. The cardinal rule of great writing is to write what you know and use it as a foundation for story or plot development.
ROWLAND: Yes, I have a second book in the works. It’s a memoir called Be A Man: Raised in the Shadow of Cowboys, and it’s actually more of an effort to tell my story in the context of a lot of the issues we’ve talked about here. Because I struggled with alcohol, and was in an abusive marriage as a young man, and my family has been impacted by a lot of the issues as other families in the West, I wanted to explore what’s unusual about growing up here as a man. I’m looking for a publisher for both of these books, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
TW: You praised the essay by the late Robert Staffanson that appeared in MoJo. He had been raised on a ranch, became conductor of the Billings Symphony, took on a prestigious conducting job in the East and then spent the last part of his long life as a civil rights activist for Indigenous people.
ROWLAND: Yes, of course one of the reasons I loved your story about Staffanson is because he’s such a terrific example of how much more complex people in Montana are than most outsiders would believe. There is a long tradition in Montana of accepting people just the way they are, as in ‘Oh, he’s a strange guy, but he’s our strange guy,’ and I’ve seen a real danger in that kind of attitude being drowned out by louder voices that want to depict everyone from Montana in a certain light.
TW: Finally, I want to know: what do you like best about writing about the West?
ROWLAND: My favorite part is that the written narrative of our part of the West is still relatively new, compared to everywhere else in the world. So it feels as if everything being written now has the potential to contribute to how it will be shaped. Plus the fact that there are so many opportunities for great metaphors in this place, between working with the land and livestock, dealing with the harsh realities of life and death, or failure brought on by the elements. It's a place where you learn in very visceral ways what it means to be powerless in this world.
About Todd Wilkinson
Todd Wilkinson, founder of Mountain Journal, is author of the book Ripple Effects: How to Save Yellowstone and American's Most Iconic Wildlife Ecosystem. Wilkinson has been writing about Greater Yellowstone for 35 years and is a correspondent to publications ranging from National Geographic to The Guardian. He is author of several books on topics as diverse as scientific whistleblowers and Ted Turner, and a book about the harrowing story of Jackson Hole grizzly mother 399, the most famous bear in the world which features photographs by Thomas Mangelsen. For more information on Wilkinson, click here. (Photo by David J Swift).
